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18
JULIET
King tails behind me all the way to my apartment, so close I’m worried he may rear-end me. And I sure as hell can’t afford any car repairs, so I’m careful to avoid any abrupt stops. In the parking lot, his eyes flick from one end of the asphalt to the other, searching for Cash or Damon. Mercifully, they aren’t waiting for me. Lucky for them. Looks like they’ll live another day with intact knuckles.
I hustle into my apartment, grab my stuff. I don’t bother changing out of my uniform. I just want to get the hell out of town before either of my knucklehead brothers shows up.
“Ready to go.” I wheel out my suitcase and toss my bag over my shoulder, wincing as the strap digs into the bruised skin.
Damn Cash.
“I’ve got it.” King takes my suitcase and lifts the bag from my shoulder so tenderly tears well in my eyes.
How did I get so lucky? Having a handsome, considerate man looking after me, loving me, is a dream I gave up long ago.
“What’s wrong?” His brows scrunch together as he tries to read my emotions.
“Nothing.” I swipe at my face, pretend I have a stray eyelash making my eyes water.
“You still want to go, right?”
“Definitely.”
“Okay.”
I cut the lights, locking the door behind us. We head down the stairs, and King opens the truck door for me, sliding the luggage behind my seat before helping me in. The perfect Southern gentleman. His mama raised him right—unlike my bozo brothers, who think beating up on women is a form of sport.
King fires up the truck, and then we take off into the night, heading out of town to the ranch. He rests his large, strong hand on my thigh, stroking my leg with his thumb every once in a while, and I’ve never felt safer. We don’t talk the whole way out to the ranch, a comfortable silence filling the cab. The low twang of classic country hums on the radio, and I close my eyes, sleep beckoning.
The next thing I know, we’re outside King’s house, and he’s shaking me awake.
“Baby, we’re here.” He brushes his lips against mine, the sweetest wake-up call I’ve had in a long while.
I rub my eyes, blinking in the darkness. Everything’s so quiet, so still out here. A nice change of pace from the deafening hustle of the Tipsy Taco.
“Come on.” He hops out, coming around and opening the door for me, extending his hand.
A light breeze blows, the distinct stench of beer, tequila, and tacos wafting around me. I definitely need to clean up before I crawl into King’s bed.
“You mind if I take a shower?” I glance over at him as we walk up the porch stairs.
“Not at all.”
We head directly upstairs, my muscles tired and achy from standing all night. Dropping my bags on the wood floor, he shuffles away to the bathroom. A golden rectangle glows on the dark planks, and I head into the bathroom, toiletries in hand.
The bathroom’s large, with an oval tub sitting beneath a window overlooking the wide lawn. A walk-in shower takes up the far-left corner of the room, and a long marble countertop with double sinks runs the length of the wall.
King opens the glass door, turning the shower on.
“There you go.”
He grabs a white towel from a nearby basket and sets it on the sink.
Wild butterflies wing around my stomach, and suddenly I’m shy. Which is stupid, seeing as how he saw me naked less than twelve hours ago.
Steam rises from the shower, the glass already fogging. King starts to leave as I pull my T-shirt over my head and drop it to the ground.
He freezes. Reaching out, he traces the reddish-purple circles marking both my shoulders.
